


i'll do whatever he wants all night

by seroquel (smallredboy)



Category: House M.D.
Genre: Bonding, Childhood Sexual Abuse, Episode: s01e13 Cursed, Episode: s02e05 Daddy's Boy, Friendship, Gen, Hypervigilance, Incestual rape, Internal Monologue, Paranoia, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, trauma responses
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-29
Updated: 2020-09-29
Packaged: 2021-03-08 00:35:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,140
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26706835
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smallredboy/pseuds/seroquel
Summary: Chase is stuck in a cycle of hypervigilance and paranoia until his father comes to visit.
Relationships: Robert Chase & Greg House
Comments: 10
Kudos: 73
Collections: Froday Flash Fiction Little & Monthly Specials 2020, Gen Prompt Bingo Round 18, Hurt/Comfort Bingo - Round 11





	i'll do whatever he wants all night

**Author's Note:**

> **fffc's 100th special:** trouble  
>  **gen prompt bingo:** a mystery to investigate  
>  **hurt/comfort bingo:** wild card - post-traumatic stress disorder
> 
> this is a pretty heavy fic, heed the warnings. inspired by _father_ by the front bottoms, where the title comes from as well.
> 
> enjoy!

"But I was just more like his wife  
I'll do the push-ups, I'll wear the makeup  
I'll do whatever he wants all night"

Father - The Front Bottoms

* * *

Chase can't help but go straight to one response at having a horrible older man as his boss.

He's read trauma theory. He knows how this works. He's aware of his responses, what they mean, why he acts like this. It still doesn't help when he hasn't gone to therapy and he doesn't know what to do with all this information. He's stuck in the fawn response, a cycle that comes after trying every other response and coming out empty. He can't fight off the trauma, so he simply stops fighting and does whatever they ask of him.

As expected, this makes him be read as a complete push-over and suck-up. His coworkers note it, everyone notices, but they don't tend to call it out. Like a young man trying to please their boss at every instance, never challenging him, never doing anything that he could _possibly_ construe as misbehavior is just a normal part of every workplace. Do they think he's just trying to get in House's good graces? Or can anyone read through his shtick, know what's wrong with him? He doesn't know which one he likes less.

The years roll on, and eventually his coworkers become a more definitive team. Foreman and Cameron. They don't call it out, nobody ever does, but Foreman does look at him weird, Cameron does question him with her eyes. He tries to get his mind off it, of the mere possibility of House doing anything to him.

He's older, he's horrible, he's an asshole. When he closes his eyes, he can almost see his dad in his footsteps. If it wasn't for his gait he could read him as the very same. When he ends up alone with House, he tries not to panic— he swallows it all down, and tries his best to be _good_. If he's good, if he doesn't _misbehave_ , then House will not be angry at him. If House won't be angry at him, then he won't grab him and push him against the wall, or yell at him, or finally whistle at him lowly and tell him to bend over his damn desk already.

He can see the scene whenever he closes his eyes at work, a blinking image of what may come someday. It's been two years, sure, and nothing has happened yet, but House may be biding his time for the best chance to do what he wants to do to him. The way he calls him pretty and throws innuendos at him is just him making him be used to it. Used to all of it.

(Joke's on him. He's already used to all of it.)

He throws away his identity and his personality for the sake of pleasing House. He knows it's ridiculous, but it works, and House seems almost amused with how he laughs at every one of his jokes, how he flushes red with panic when he calls him a pretty boy. His alarm sirens blare at every damn instance of House even _looking_ at him, and even though he spends most of his time harassing Cuddy, he still feels some sort of guilty. Because maybe he's not that bad. Maybe he's just trying to flirt with him, maybe he wouldn't do anything without his consent.

But maybe he would. And that's what bites at him, keeps those images sprouting beneath his eyelids every time he closes his eyes. He gets nightmares, too, in-between the typical ones reliving what he's already gone through in slightly different settings, details changed just slightly. Rowan's tie is a different color, they're in a different room; he's a bit younger than when it happened, Rowan is talking about his homework and not about what he's doing to him. They're like prophecies, little omens of what is to come— House, snarling at him to bend over the desk. House, grabbing him by the collar of his shirt and telling him to get on his knees. House, calling him pretty while he pushes him farther down. 

These aren't the dreams he should be having. But they are the dreams he has.

(Sometimes they're dreams where he's killing his dad. Sometimes there's dreams where he's completely pliant to House's advances, only not categorized as wet dreams because he wakes up in a cold sweat, no arousal to be heard of. Sometimes there's a baseball bat in his hands and Rowan is screaming. Sometimes he doesn't even scream.)

His desperate attempts at keeping himself hidden, his identity revolving around being House's employee, about being his employee and about being a complete fucking push-over, comes crashing down when Rowan comes visiting one day.

It's confusing. It feels like swallowing glass. He doesn't want to see him, and Rowan must know, because he tries to regard him with sympathy. He regards him with a pathetic attempt at empathy, like they don't know what happened all those nights. The secrets strewn across his body, scars that can't be seen anymore, lighting up like a Christmas tree when Rowan looks at him.

It's even worse because — well, because everyone can tell that something is very wrong with his relationship with his father. And no matter how much he tries to hide it under him abandoning him and his mother, but for some fucking reason no one buys it. It should be traumatic enough, right? It should be enough, it should be believable, that all of this stems from him leaving when he was fifteen years old. But no one buys it. They all see right through the acting. They know there's more to it than that.

"He beat you," Cameron offers. Silence. "He beat your mom."

He wishes it was that simple. He wishes he could offer her a categorical list of non-definitive acts, a little explanation as to why he is the way he is. But he's not supposed to tell his coworker (much less his coworker he has some sort of romantic interest on) that his dad put him on his lap while watching R-rated movies, pressed his hand between his legs. He's not supposed to tell her about the shame and the guilt and how the priest told him that he shouldn't make up lies about his father while he begged to be believed. 

Acclaimed rheumatologist Rowan Chase. Widower, father, doctor, and a child rapist. Who would believe him? Who in their right mind would not take him as a ridiculous, jealous child, making up lies about his father simply to drive him out of the medical community? There's no lies, but there's ridiculousness. There's the simple fact that his father looks, to almost everyone who has met him, like a completely normal man. Maybe even a good one, if their thoughts on him aren't tarnished by the fact he abandoned his son to be left alone with his alcoholic mother at fifteen years old.

"Stop pushing it," he replies. "I don't want to talk about it."

"Chase," she says, gently. "There must be _something_ that he did. Other than leaving you."

"Couldn't leaving me be _enough_?" he spits out.

(It could be. But it isn't.)

Her gaze softens. "Of course it could be," she says. "But... but I think there's something more here. I don't know why. I just — I just do."

He sighs. "You all seem to be able to tell."

"You think House has caught wind to it, too?"

"Yeah." He swallows. "It's only a matter of time before he corners me until I tell him. And he'll laugh, and say something about how of course I took him like a girl."

Cameron's eyes widen. "Chase..."

"I don't want your pity," he says dryly. "I wasn't supposed to tell you. Wasn't planning to."

"I'm not pitying you," she replies. She looks away, looks back at the MRI. "I just didn't think..."

"Yeah." He sighs. "It's not an usual suspect, is it? Especially with an acclaimed rheumatologist."

"I believe you," she says. "And I don't think... I don't think House will laugh at you. He's blunt, sure, but he always seems to be... _caring_ about people who have been sexually abused. Or who he suspects may have been. I've seen it with him a few times now." She clears her throat. "But of course, if you don't want him to know— which is completely understandable— I hope he doesn't push you to tell him."

Chase hums. "He probably will. I know him by now."

Cameron's response makes his defenses go down somewhat. Maybe it'll be fine, he thinks; maybe it'll be fine and House won't stare at him like he's grown a second head. Maybe he won't even push him into telling him. Maybe he'll just make an ill-fitting joke about beating his dad up, and he'll try to laugh, and he'll try not to break down. 

Of course, his hopes of him not pushing him into telling him don't come true.

After seeing his dad off in the street, hugging him goodbye as he got onto the taxi, he feels like he's cleansed, somehow. Like he'll manage to avoid him for the rest of his life. He hopes he does; it's the first time he's seen him in ten or so years; hopefully he doesn't have the grand idea of coming to see his victim once again, invites himself into his apartment.

The next day, House hounds him about it. Of course he hounds him about it; he's probably read a thing or two about trauma theory, and can see right through him. He's brilliant, he's smart, he knows how this works.

"What got you so riled up about seeing dear old dad?" House asks when they're alone in his office.

"It's none of your business," he says.

"Oh, it is." House hums. "Will you believe me if I say I get it?"

He stares at him. For a second, he pictures House as someone going through a similar trauma as his own. And he realizes that it makes sense— House would be, then, perpetually stuck in the _fight_ trauma response, just like he's stuck in the _fawn_ response. It makes sense.

He considers this.

"Kind of," he replies.

"Well, you better believe it," he says. " _My_ dear old dad is also a horrible person. I'm just wondering if we're dealing with the same type of trauma here." He talks with a certain degree of separation from all this, like he's talking about someone else's abuse. "Could I throw my best guess at you, or would you prefer to tell me yourself?"

"Am I allowed to not tell you?"

"Of course," House says. He looks at him for one long moment. "But I can pay for your therapy, if you need some. Which I can tell you do."

Chase sighs. "That'd be good."

"Yeah, especially a few months from now."

He blinks. "What?"

"He's dying," House says rather bluntly. "Your dad is dying, and he told me not to tell you. Stage four lung cancer."

Chase blinks owlishly. It does make sense, he supposes— his dad is a pretty heavy smoker. "Really?"

"Yeah, really," he says. "He's a horrible man— I can _tell_ that much, even without you saying anything about it— and so I don't think I should respect his wish to leave you surprised that he's dead in three months."

He doesn't know how to feel. Is he supposed to be sad? Is he supposed to be happy? Should he cry or should he laugh in relief? When his father is six feet underground, he won't have to worry about him coming into his apartment; there will be no worries about the wounds being deepened onto, only the worry that comes with this trauma, this untreated trauma he refuses to do anything about.

Maybe therapy would be nice. Maybe House offering to pay for it wouldn't be bad. Maybe he won't suggest for him to repay him later on.

"Okay," he says, voice tight. "I don't know what to... feel."

"Of course," House says. "That's to be expected. I'm waiting for my father to die."

Chase looks at him, but doesn't judge him. That makes sense with how House is, even more so if he's gone through something similar to his own.

"Yeah," he says noncommittally. He swallows. "Are... um. You want to hear it, don't you?"

"I don't want the details," he says. "I don't... I don't need you to unravel in front of me. Just a yes or no answer would be good for me."

"Ask, then."

House doesn't look at him as he asks, "Was it sexual?"

Chase freezes, for a second, like a deer in the headlights. He knows that's more than enough of an answer, but House likes to hear explicit confirmation, so he mutters a "Yes," almost defeated.

He manages to look up at House, and his gaze has softened even more.

"Me too," he says.

"Yeah," Chase says. His defenses go down like that, all his fears about House dissipate like smoke, disappearing. They'll be back soon, maybe, but to _know_ that House is just like him— it feels wrong to still be paranoid about him. Like he's doing something wrong, being paranoid about him. He goes and sits on the edge of his desk. "That... makes sense." He coughs. "No offense."

"None taken." He hums. "That's why you're such a suck-up, isn't it?"

Chase blushes at that, looks away. "Yeah. I haven't... gone to therapy, but I've read enough theory to know about the trauma responses. I've gone straight to _fawn_."

"Trauma responses affect us the most when we're scared," House offers. "Are you scared of me? Do I..." He pauses. "Do I remind you of him?"

"You do," he replies. He sighs. "I... I'm sorry. You're just older than me, and an asshole, so, paranoia, hypervigilance. However you want to call it."

"No, it's fine," he says, waving his hand dismissively. "It's alright. Of course, it isn't, but you know what I mean. No offense taken."

"Are you...?" The idea of House going to therapy is laughable. Like a punchline to a bad joke, something Foreman would make up while they're at a bar together. Yeah, sure House goes to therapy. _Sure_. "Are you in therapy? I don't know, you sound... really detached about it, a bit."

"Dissociation does that," House offers. "I've been to therapy. I'm not in it at the moment. It does help, but being vulnerable is not quite my shtick." He laughs humorlessly. "It could help you, though. I can pay, if you'd like for dear old dad to not know where his money's going."

"That's the only compensation I've gotten," he says. "His money. And even then, I feel like when he dies he won't be nice enough to leave it to me." He huffs. "Probably will end all in _cancer charities_. Maybe even a few rape centers, if he's feeling sardonic enough."

House puts a hand on his shoulder. Something that only a few days ago would make him recoil with terror; but now he leans into it. "Yeah. I'm sorry, man. I'm sure you'll survive it, though; I have excess money, anyway. If you need help after he kicks the bucket, just let me know."

Chase musters a genuine smile. "Thank you, House." 

"It's no problem," he says.

It's weird to see House be so kind. He guesses he reserves this part of himself to when someone really needs it, so they'll realize _hey, House is being nice_. It's almost heartwarming. 

"I'll get going, now," he says. "Work's over with for today, and I really need to sleep. That was incredibly draining."

House hums. "Yeah, I get that too. I'll get going back home as well."

As Chase leaves the hospital, he finds a certain degree of solace in that House understands him. That House went through something similar, at the hand of the same figure as him. Fathers... of course House has always that degree of mistrust around fathers; another facet of him makes sense like that.

He goes to grab a cab and heads back home. He needs a good night's rest after so much of his life just unraveled in front of him.

Nearly a year later, the great interest of the team is that, well, House's parents are in Jersey and are trying to have dinner with him. 

Cameron speaks about it with a degree of certainty, of _well, he should just go and see his parents!_ and Foreman seems just as peeved about it. Sure, it's annoying, to hear so much about their boss avoiding his parents like the plague without the context Chase has for it.

He heads to House's office after work, and he's getting ready, putting his stuff in its place.

"Are you going to see your parents?" Chase asks.

House musters a grin. "Oh, I didn't know you were my knight in shining armor, now," he spits out.

"I'm not," he says. "I'm just... worried. Are you going to be okay?"

"I'll be fine, Chase." He huffs. "I'll be just fine. Just... I have to get this over with." 

Chase swallows. He's not used to feeling this degree of... _protectiveness_ over House. He's not supposed to, over all, and a year ago the mere notion would be laughable. But he was left a mess by seeing his father; he can't imagine how House will react to it. Probably not well.

"Can't you cancel?" he offers.

"I tried to," he replies. "Again and again. But, you know, parents are pesky like that." He rolls his eyes, leans into his cane. "It's just one night, wombat. I won't shatter."

"Of course," he replies. There's a silent _sure you won't_ , but he doesn't dare say it. "Just... I worry."

"I know," House replies. "I worry for you too." There's that genuine care in his voice, then, that thing he very rarely lets slip into his words. "But I have to get this done with, or else they'll keep badgering me with dinner invitations and with seeing my dear old mom and dad, come on, pay us a visit." He huffs. "I'll get going."

"Of course," Chase says. "Just... tell me if you need anything, alright?"

House tilts his head and limps toward the door; Chase steps into his office to let him pass. "I'll cuddle Wilson to forget about it, Chase. Don't worry about me."

"Sure," Chase says, watching him leave.

At least he feels safer now, safer than he ever did before. Maybe his dad coming to Princeton to see him was, all in all, a good thing. 

_That's an odd thought_ , he thinks, smiling to himself as he goes to head back home.


End file.
